


Runaway

by prouveyrac



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Runaways AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouveyrac/pseuds/prouveyrac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer, 2014. There is a new king. There is still no justice for the minorities and ones in poverty.<br/>Summer, 2014. Runaway teenagers are taken by the king’s police and shipped back to their families. Those who run away again after that are never heard of again.<br/>Summer, 2014. Kids on the streets since birth are heavily guarded by police, beaten if they make any move of disobedience.<br/>Summer, 2014. Teenagers are more likely to be killed by the police than the conditions of living on the streets.<br/>Summer, 2014. A group of teenagers refuse to stand for this any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> Courfeyrac has hope in people. Perhaps that’s what made the beginning of this story tragic. But not all stories that start out as tragedies can stay tragedies. Some had to change, and Courfeyrac was sure that his would.

_i. a not so happy beginning_

Courfeyrac has hope in people. Perhaps that’s what made the beginning of this story tragic. But not all stories that start out as tragedies can stay tragedies. Some had to change, and Courfeyrac was sure that his would.

Courfeyrac had hope that perhaps his father would understand. Courfeyrac had hope that perhaps someone in his house would stick up for him whilst his father screamed at him. Courfeyrac had hope that someone -his mother, his sister, even the fucking housekeepers- would even notice him packing his bags in his room, would notice him climbing out one of the windows.

And of course, his hope had been crushed like his dreams of actually getting along with his father.

Courfeyrac sniffed, turning on the corner, another block away from his house. The summer sun was setting and twilight started to glimmer behind him. He didn’t know where he was going and he really should have planned this out (because where can a queer seventeen year old who has been sheltered all his life go?).

He would not cry. He would find somewhere to stay. Yes, the majority of his friends were away from summer vacation, but he would find a way.

Courfeyrac sighed, tugging at his curls. He didn’t know who he hated more, his mother and sister for not doing anything, his father for calling him a worthless son , or himself for letting this all happen. He just had to wait a year months because then he would be able to go off to college and be out of that house. But nope, for some reason he had to bring up the fact to his father that no, he was not straight.

And well here he is because that plan was obviously a train wreck and now his father refuses to pay for his college fee. Of course he would try to pay if he had the money, key word: _if_. And besides, now that he left, he doubt that his father would even think about letting him back in.

But it’s the summer, Courfeyrac can get by. He could probably find somewhere to stay. Three towns over is where his aunt lives, and she has always liked him, so maybe he can stay with her… but she’s also taking care of her sick mother, and Courfeyrac would hate to be a burden.

Well, Courfeyrac could live with sleeping on a bench. Or under a tunnel or _something_.

Courfeyrac continued to walk. He _really_ should have thought this out because of course the majority of places he could sleep had those fucking spikes to prevent the homeless, and other benches were taken up by people waiting for buses or just resting.

Courfeyrac spent a long time walking. And this time gave him the opportunity to see how shitty the city he lived in was after you got out of the part where all the sheltered, rich people lived. For one, there was a sudden bigger amount of people in the street and more homeless spikes. This part of Paris was more heavily guarded (A crying girl was being taken away by one of them. Courfeyrac looked away, he was always taught not to interfere.)

Nonetheless, Courfeyrac was surprised. Where he lived, everything was pretty and clean and elegant. Here it was… dirty, poor.

This was when he realized that he barely ever left the upper-class side of Paris, and if he ever did, he never came to places like these. His family always came to him house, people went to his house for parties.

Courfeyrac ducked his head, shifting his bag more over his shoulder. He could feel their eyes on him. He could feel them watching his walk, staring at his neat clothes, his polished figure. He had some money in his wallet, he could offer some… but to who? There had to be at least twenty kids on this street and he couldn’t offer money to only some.

He sighed and quickened his step.

A couple seconds later, he heard a sharp cry behind him. Spinning around on his heel, he saw a girl crumpled on the ground. A police guard was standing above her, bringing his stick back down to hit her harshly with it. The girl seemed to try to fight back, though her thin arms did nothing to hold back the blow. It reminded him of the time three years ago with his father hit his younger sister.

"Hey!" Courfeyrac shouted without thinking, starting to go towards what was going on. _How can no body be doing anything? They’re all just standing there!_

There was then a hard grip on his arm, yanking him back. “You get out of here, boy,” a deep voice growled. Courfeyrac turned around to see a burly man standing right there, towering above him.

"How can you just be standing here while he does that to her?" He exclaimed, trying to yank his arm away.

"Do you want that to happen to you too?" The man snapped, raising his other hand, holding another dark stick. " ‘Cause if you stay around here any longer, you’ll be joining her down there."

Courfeyrac glared up at the man before yanking his arm away. He took one last look at the girl and their eyes caught. The man then grabbed Courfeyrac and shoved him away.

Courfeyrac stumbled before catching his footing, walking away.

The girl cried out again.

~~

The sky was black by the time Courfeyrac finally found a park and a bench. The entire time walking, police guards were watching him suspiciously. Though, it seemed after a couple moments of just watching him walking, they would turn back to their post.

Courfeyrac sighed, running a hand through his curls, damp with sweat. He sat on the park bench. It seemed like he was the only one in the area. It was near silent around him, the only sound being owls or an occasional breeze blowing leaves around.

He brought his legs up to his chest and fished his phone out of his bag.

No messages.

Biting his bottom lip, Courfeyrac shoved his phone back into his bag. He then looked around once more before lying down on the bench, resting his head on the bag. He adjusted it once more before letting his eyes slip close.

Unknown to how much later, there was a tight grip on his shoulder. Someone was shaking him, trying to wake him up. Courfeyrac’s mind just cleared enough to process what was going on and the fact that his legs were killing him from being cramped up on the bench.

His eyes slowly opened. Everything was still dark around him. He could only have been sleeping for an hour at least. His eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, he realized that two people were standing in front of him.

Frowning, he sat up, looking at the pair. “Can I help you?” He asked, not really pleased with being woken up by two strangers (who looked like they could be no older than him).

"Actually, we were going to ask you the same thing," one with taped glasses said, looking down at him.

"You should get off the bench," the other one with the long, curly blonde hair said.

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes. “Why? There’s a dozen other benches here, why do you need _this_ one?”

"No," Long Hair said, "You should get off the bench before they find you."

"You can come with us," Glasses offered. "You look around our age, and you don’t exactly look poor… we’re assuming you’re a runaway."

Courfeyrac nodded, staying silence.

"If they find you," Long Hair cut in, "They’re just going to take you back to your home. I’m guessing you don’t want to go back there, right?"

"Yeah, I don’t," Courfeyrac mumbled, standing up. He towered over Long Hair but Glasses towered over him. "Wait, who’s ‘They’?"

"The police," Glasses said. "You don’t want them catching you, trust me. They don’t care about how much money or power you have, they will always take you back to your home, no matter how shitty the conditions. Now, follow us." Glasses started walking with Long Hair following. Courfeyrac paused before jogging to catch up.

"What’s your name?" Glasses asked.

"Felix," Courfeyrac said quickly, "Felix Courfeyrac."

"Oh, the son of the Courfeyrac family?" Long Hair questioned, a smirk on their lips.

"How do you know?" Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes.

"I’m the child of the Enjolras family."

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened slightly. “My father did business with yours! I was told that you-“

"Disappeared two years ago, age fourteen," Enjolras cut in. "That’s what everyone was told. And I’m guessing you already know, but I’m Enjolras, Julian Enjolras. He, him pronouns for right now."

"And I’m Luc, but call me Combeferre. He, him pronouns also," Glasses -now Combeferre- introduced. "And great, now that introductions are done and rich sons met up again, we have to _go_.”

"Where are we going?" Courfeyrac asked curiously, looking up at Combeferre.

"Somewhere you can sleep and not have to worry about being woken up by a police guard dragging you away," Enjolras said, smiling.

"We’re both runaways," Combeferre explained, "And we found this abandoned subway station, so that’s where us two and a bunch of others stay. You can stay with us."

"It’s pretty nice," Enjolras said. "Does get a little hot, though. But it’s actually pretty clean and no one knows how but this one guy Bahorel managed to find a couple beds so we all have a comfortable-ish place to sleep. You might have to share a bed, though."

"I don’t mind," Courfeyrac murmured as he was led down a street and under street barricades to a staircase. "So this is a place for runaways?"

"Yeah," Combeferre nodded, "A place for people like us."


End file.
